


No Defense For It

by Heart_Seoul_Soshi



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 06:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15504114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heart_Seoul_Soshi/pseuds/Heart_Seoul_Soshi
Summary: Prompt: "Your kiss is pure witchcraft, M..."





	No Defense For It

**Author's Note:**

> from an anonymous request on tumblr

Mal had a spellbook. It was her mother’s spellbook, and she kept it close to her side in a way she never dared to keep her mother close. She’d pored over each and every page time and time again, read it clean through first with her eyes and then with her fingertips, following the grooves and shapes of every letter where once upon a time Maleficent’s ink pen had carved out the words in the soft parchment. Mal knew her mother’s spellbook like the back of her hand, could probably recite every enchantment and anecdote verbatim if she so fancied, but it didn’t stop her from going through it over and over, the flip and turn of pages always crinkling the air as she spent all of her time lost within the bindings.  
  
“…Why are you always studying that?”  
  
Evie asked her question as she herself was lost within the bindings of a far less interesting book, one with mass-produced words and formulas that lay flat on their pages, printed lazily by a machine instead of the nib of a pen.  
  
“I like to,” Mal’s answer was even flatter than the formulas scattered across the thin, waxy paper of her best friend’s textbook. She was busy reading, after all. Couldn’t be bothered to allow her attention to wander.  
  
“But you already know every spell inside it. By heart, at least. You don’t even use any of them.”  
  
No, Mal had never employed a single spell from her mom’s book, even though at this point it would probably be as simple for her as a snap of the fingers. She’d already tuned Evie out completely, intense eyes threatening to burn a hole in the page she was focused on as she let the tips of her fingers indulge themselves in the words again, like she had to keep refreshing her memory of touch. Something her mother had written about ravens, of course dedicated to her dear Diablo. Mal stroked over the words like Maleficent stroked the feathers of her trusted familiar, committing every syllable to her consciousness.    
  
 _The bird black as midnight,  
With beady eyes, always searching:  
He is the ultimate confidante._  
  
Evie couldn’t remember the last time she saw Mal without that book. It was a rare occasion that she wasn’t reading it, but still she would keep it close at hand, tucked under an arm or against her side. Evie had a love of reading to her name as well, but  _books._  Plural. And though she could certainly enchant herself with the same story again and again, even she knew there was a limit to how many times any sane person could brood over the same worn and weathered pages. She could hear the whispers tickling the air as Mal’s lips moved, unwittingly reading aloud now.  
  
 _“…Stay close by her side  
For fairy flights and tea  
Until the time is right  
To request the honor of her wings  
Bequeathed to you after her passing.”_  
  
Mal quietly recited the paragraph within her book as if it were a song, and Evie didn’t even need to hear it, she could read the words exactly as they danced across Mal’s lips.  
  
Evie snapped her own book shut.  
  
"You know what you are, Mal? Obsessed,” she sternly said, standing up from the desk.  
  
“Nothing wrong with that,” Mal turned a page, not even looking at Evie as she spoke.  
  
“There  _is_  something wrong with that, you’re just too blinded by this spellbook to see it!”  
  
“I’m not obsessed,” Mal cooly denied, changing her argument like she really hadn’t been listening to the accusation the first time around.  
  
Which was exactly the case.  
  
“When was the last time you picked up your sketchbook? Drew something?” Evie questioned with a glower. “When was the last time you went to bed without your mother’s spellbook under your pillow?”  
  
 _“My_  spellbook,” Mal reflexively corrected.  
  
“M!!” If Evie were in a more whimsical mood she would’ve stomped her foot in a pout.  
  
Page eighty-six. Mal of course knew page eighty-six. If  _she_  were in a more whimsical mood she would have casually flipped to it, just long enough for Evie to catch a glance of “The Best Ways to Poison a Princess” written at the top of the page and enjoy a devious chuckle at her expense. Even if Mal had been taking a more hands-on approach to the study of her spells, still she would never dare to actually follow  _that_  one through. Not to Evie. Never to Evie, no matter how much she nagged and whined about the spellbook.  
  
“I think you want to be like her. Just like her,” Evie coldly said, crossing her arms.  
  
That, it seemed, was what it took to break Mal’s own personal spell. Eyes, fingers, focus, everything tore away from the book just then and met Evie across the room with stunned disbelief.  
  
“What??” Mal snapped. “Yeah, E, of all people, I want to be  _just_ like my mother.”  
  
Mal didn’t need a spell to poison a princess, there was already enough poison simply dripping from her words.  
  
“Why else would you be so fascinated by her magic? Night and day, you’re in that book. You take it everywhere, never let it out of your sight, and for what? For spells that you won’t even use? Admit it, Mal. I think you’re absolutely intrigued by the idea of becoming your mother, but deep down you’re too afraid to try.”  
  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mal grumbled, somehow finding the will to grudgingly close the book.  
  
“And the scariest part? The scariest part isn’t that you’re too afraid to try because you really don’t want to give in to evil, you’re too afraid to try because you don’t think you’ll be evil  _enough.”_  
  
Maybe if there was a “mute” spell somewhere within the age-worn bindings. Mal could settle for a mute spell on Evie.  
  
“Your biggest fear has always been not living up to Maleficent’s legacy, and it’s no different with this book. I know you, Mal. I know what goes on inside your head.”  
  
Evie’s stance and slight temper were softening, Mal could hear it, just as she could hear Evie’s footfalls padding across the carpet with her eyes busying themselves with tracing the golden dragon insignia adorning the cover of the spellbook.  
  
“You think you aren’t good enough. Or bad enough, or whatever,” Evie said, standing over Mal’s bed. “That’s why you memorize this thing down to the very last syllable, because you think it’ll help.”  
  
“I’m not trying to become my mother,” Mal continued to argue with a grumble, fingers curling into a fist without a page to quell their spirit.  
  
“Then maybe you’re trying to become better. Better than her.”  
  
Evie saw the fist. The tenseness tightening Mal’s spine. Neither one of them made her stop and think twice about letting her hand come to rest on Mal’s shoulder.  
  
“You want to be better than her, and still you’re afraid to really try because you don’t think you can do it. You don’t think you’re strong enough, or ready enough, or  _worthy_ enough to conquer these spells.”  
  
“Of course I’m not worthy enough!!” Mal shouted, twisting herself from under the touch of Evie’s hand. “I don’t have the magic like she does!! I’ve tried before, did you know that? I tried a stupid,  _simple_  hair spell on Jane and I couldn’t even do that! I’m the daughter of Maleficent, it’s supposed to be in my blood, Evie. And it’s just…not.”  
  
Evie gingerly sat down beside Mal on the bed, meeting her eyes with a soft sigh.  
  
“So you think driving yourself crazy inside those pages is the answer?” she gently prodded.  
  
Mal shrugged, shoulders heavy.  
  
“…I don’t know what the answer is, E.”  
  
“Then you should’ve asked me, a long time ago. I’m the answer girl, after all.”  
  
Although it was petulantly, Mal conceded.  
  
“Fine,” she huffed. “Then what  _is_  the answer, all-seeing Evie?”  
  
“The answer is…” Evie tapped a finger to her chin, teasing deep thought. “…You don’t need your mom’s spellbook. The magic already  _is_  in your blood.”  
  
“How could you possibly know that?!” Mal demanded, exasperated.  
  
And then the fire within her was quelled by the taste of Evie on her lips, something sweet, and something warm. Warm like a fever as Mal instinctively kissed her back, wanting it and needing it more than she ever knew. Wanting it so much that still she leaned in close even as Evie slowly drew away, Mal’s lips parted and painted with soft breaths as she let the sparkling jade of her eyes ask for more.  
  
“…Because your kiss is pure witchcraft, M,” Evie murmured, letting her forehead come to rest against Mal’s.  
  
That’s how she knew. Mal couldn’t help but laugh a little to herself, either out of relief, or happiness, or even something like an uncharacteristic and lighthearted giddiness.  
  
“…Very magical,” Mal quietly agreed.  
  
“Very,” Evie smiled, biting her lip in a way she’d like to bite Mal’s. “Do you know what already makes you better than your mother?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“…The fact that you can make someone feel like this,” Evie said with a blissful sigh.  
  
“…So I cast a spell on you,” Mal playfully mused.  
  
“From the very moment we met.”  
  
Mal had something new to trace now, something for her touch to memorize. Not the words dipped deep into the pages of her spellbook, but the full shape of Evie’s lips, soft and silken under her fingertip.  
  
“Then I have magic after all,” she said, a little distractedly.  
  
“Mhm.”  
  
Mal closed her eyes and brushed her lips against Evie’s once, then twice, then three times. Pure witchcraft.  
  
“…Help me practice, then?”  
  
“…I’m counting on it, Mal.”


End file.
